


Plants and Prose

by Aalligade



Category: Writing - Fandom
Genre: Multi, Original Character(s), Writing, Writing Exercise
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-29
Updated: 2019-12-02
Packaged: 2021-01-08 05:01:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 1,817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21230222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aalligade/pseuds/Aalligade
Summary: Just a collection of writing exercises I’ve done. All of the characters involved either belong to me or to viv. Some of these are based off of fandoms, those ones will have a disclaimer or something





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story relies heavily on a Fallout 4 location — Dunwich Quarry. If you know about the location, this’ll make sense. The basic gist is that a bunch of people were trying to dig up the statue of an elder god or something. There’s a legendary sword that can be found there, which is the blade in question.  
I’m writing this on mobile so sorry if it’s funky lol

“It’s in the quarry.” Harley’s voice is even and slow, as if he’s been rehearsing the sentence in his head.  
“Pardon?” Charlie glances at him out of the corner of her eye. He had not spoken at all since the start of the conversation. No great loss, she’d say.  
“This... blade you’re looking for,” He clarifies, a distant look in his eye. “I’ve seen it. It’s in the quarry.”  
Mary straightens up, the information seeming to jog her memory.  
“Oh, right! I remember there’s that stone company south from here! They were digging up those big chunks of granite and those stupid trucks were so loud! It started with a d or something, right? Ugh, what was it—“  
“Dunwich,” Harley provides quietly. Normally, he’d be holding something like this over the group’s heads— that he remembered something they didn’t. His placid stance is unnerving.  
“Didn’t they get shut down for safety reasons?” Cain butts in. “I thought I heard that, like, a bunch of people were falling and getting hurt.”  
A low whine comes from Harley, like he’s in pain.  
“People died, but they couldn’t stop...” He mutters. “It wouldn’t let them stop...”  
“Okay, this conversation is over,” Tommy cuts of the beginning of a downward spiral. “You idiots are welcome to go explore some creepy, run-down cave, but Boss and I—“ He shoots a pointed look at Harley. “ Are leaving before he starts speakin’ in tongues.”


	2. Cold ravioli

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This was for my creative writing class. It’s about a zombie apocalypse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Epic cringe nae nae baby

The slam of the cellar door feels final in some unidentifiable way. Like I’ve just signed my own death warrant or finished the story of my life with a fanciful “The End.” Despite the foreboding feeling, I check the door when Rodney asks me to.  
“You’re sure it’s locked?” Rodney’s voice breaks the silence yet again. He seems to be prone to worrying, and I sometimes find myself feeling sorry for him.  
“Yes, I’m sure,” I snap, perhaps too harshly. I drop my backpack onto the cold concrete floor. “I was sure the last time you asked, and I’m still gonna be sure when you ask again.” I glance into the darkness at where I assume Rodney is standing. “None of those... things are getting in.”  
“I’m just being careful,” I know he is, and I know my annoyance is largely unfounded. “You’ve seen what they’re capable of.”

I stop in my exploration of the cellar as something brushes against my face— a string for the ceiling light, it seems. I tug it and the room is bathed in harsh light. 

“We almost didn’t make it here,” Rodney speaks up yet again when I don’t give him a response. “Too close of a call. Not being careful is what let they Grey Plague get this far!”  
He’s about to go down the rabbit hole again, so I sigh and answer him.

“We know better, now. We’re not going to end up as one of those mindless creatures. I promise you.” It seems that my reassurance eases his mind, as he doesn’t mention checking the lock again for the rest of the night.

We sit in silence in the cellar, eating cold ravioli from a can. I sigh and set my can down, letting my eyes wander around my new surroundings. This is home for now, I guess.


	3. Fragility

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So this chapter contains a character that belongs to my dear friend Rhythmickorbit (It’s Sig)  
This one’s kind of weird lol but I’ve had the idea in my head for a while

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don’t know why everyone shits on the name Kyle like I think it’s a nice name

Kyle could feel his mind going. It was a gradual thing, his madness. He hadn’t woken up one day and decided that yes, this was the day he would go stark, raving mad. 

There were only small things, at first. He would forget to do some small task, and then forget that he had forgotten about it. Sure, Sig and Ross were annoyed by it, but it was ultimately harmless.

The delusions came next. They started small, as all things do, but they worsened as time moved on. He would call out the name of a long-dead pet, believing that they were simply hiding. He would believe that his brother was visiting the next day, not realizing that he hadn’t seen him, (much less spoken to him) for three years.

When the delusions began to worsen, people began to worry.  
Kyle became paranoid, convinced that his dead Father was merely faking it. Sig and Ross became enemies— They were agents sent to make sure his heart stopped beating when the cue came.

They had managed to bring him to a hospital, but he had gone kicking and screaming. The nurses had to sedate him, he would later find out.  
The doctors said there was a price of shrapnel in his head— That it was moving and rusting and that it would kill him if it wasn’t removed. Kyle wasn’t in a position to make the choice on his own, so Sig decided to allow the surgery.

When it was said and done, they had placed the price of shrapnel in front of him and blamed it for causing his mind to be the way it was. Kyle has never hated something as vividly as he hated that piece of metal.

It became an obsession. Every week or so, he would ask if they were sure they got rid of all the shrapnel. Every week became every couple of days, which became every day and then every few hours and then every hour and then every minute of every day until he was sure that everybody was lying to him and that the metal wasn’t his only enemy.


	4. A symbiotic relationship?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This involves a generic character (Jack) and my favorite character of all time (the monster)

As The Creature rears its terrible head, the world begins to tremble. A scream escapes from its bone-white jaws, and Jack thinks he can feel his eardrums shatter.

The old woman sitting next to him is praying— Kneeling with her hands folded as pleas for mercy slip through her lips. Jack has never been the type to pray, but he figures that at a time like now, he really can’t judge. They’re going to need all the help they can get.

A muted crash as another building falls. The Creature doesn’t seem to have any sort of plan. It destroyed a McDonalds with the same enthusiasm as a skyscraper. It’s reveling in the destruction, like a 5-year-old knocking over a pile of blocks. Jack can barely even bring himself to hate it— Why dent it of its nature?  
The Creature lowers its head and sniffs along the ground, shuffling over the rubble. The hot breath reeks of ash and decay.

The woman’s prayers become frantic as The Creature approaches, tears streaming down her wrinkled cheeks. He places a hand on her shoulder to draw her attention, and places the other on his lips to quiet her.

The low hiss as The Creature comes to a stop in front of their refuge— *that* he can hear. It opens its terrible jaws and this... *thing* emerges. Like the bastard son of The Original Serpent, it slithers out of The Creature’s maw. A parasite or an ally, Jack can’t decide.


	5. Happy Campers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is basically just a re-telling of the YouTube video “There’s a man in the woods” it’s really cool you should check it out

“There’s a man in the woods!”

How was I supposed to know that sentence would start a revolution? Johnny was prone to lying— everyone knew that. His parents defended him, but we all knew it was true!

But the children— oh, the children— they believed him! So it was MY fault when they started writing letters home, begging for their parents to pick them up, to save them.   
I’m a camp counselor, for gods sake! Shouldn’t I be able to handle a little rumor on my own?

Apparently not! The calls, oh the calls! Every hour of every day, the calls! Parents screaming at me— a teenager of 18– to defend their precious child with my life from the dangerous man in the woods with a knife!

The police searched the woods, yes they did! Not a shred of evidence, but that kid! He kept telling them that they were in danger, that the man knew where they lived and they would have to face his anger!

I was innocent! I knew it was a myth, and that nothing would harm the camp or the kids, but no! I was an accomplice! I knew it was fake, but they saw me as pompous! They though I was putting my own ego over the safety of the children— me!!

I was ridiculed and mocked and cast out and shamed. Why didn’t I take this seriously? Surely I was to blame!

So out I went, and good riddance, too! They gave my job to somebody new. Someone who knew that children are always telling the truth. Someone who was an idiot and couldn’t think for themselves and shouldn’t be trusted with children and and and and and!!

No more jobs for me! A death sentence for a teen of 18, and I have that little... that little.............

But I can play my part, I can be good! Do you hear that, Johnny? There’s a man in the woods.


	6. Three’s a crowd

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Star Wars fanfic? In 2019? It’s more likely than you might think.

“PK, huh?” The Pilot breaks the silence, poking at the dying embers with a stick.

The Scout in question shrugs. “Only name they ever gave me. Not like I really met my parents,” He’s talking as if The Pilot has asked about the weather. “Good for them, right RX?”

The Trooper glances up from the small wooden carving in his hands, and places the knife down at his side. “Dodged a bullet. Better that you ended up helping the empire,” He brushes the wood chips off of his lap. “In whatever minuscule way.”

“Oh my god,” The Pilot breathes out. “That’s a horrible thing to say.”

“It’s true, though, I’m not gonna hide it. I don’t think any shmuck could handle all a this,” The Scout gestures to the whole of his body. “It takes real talent to put up with me.”

“And, unfortunately, it seems that I am incredibly talented.” The Trooper sighs, setting the carving down. This is the most he’s talked since the beginning of this little escapade.   
“I’d sell you for a new set of armor.”

The Pilot glances between the two of them, as if he’s trying to figure out if they’re joking or not.   
“Uh...” He pulls his legs closer to himself. “Ha ha...”   
The laugh is painfully forced. 

There’s a moment of awkward silence as they all just stare at each other. No one quite knows what to say. The Scout and Trooper, because it’s obvious that The Pilot doesn’t understand their humor. And The Pilot, because he doesn’t know if this is friendly running or if the other two actually hate each other.

“Oh! Uh, do you guys want to listen to some music?” The Pilot speaks up, sitting straighter.

“You have The Imperial March?” The Trooper glances over, knife in hand.

“It’s the only song he listens to,” The Scout says with a wide grin on his face. “It’s ridiculous. There are, what, 2,000 plays on that one song alone?”

“There’s nothing wrong with it,” The Trooper says petulantly. “It’s a good song.”


End file.
